


Song of Silence, Dance Amidst Death

by rahelawriter



Series: Working Out the Kinks [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascian(s), F/M, Post-Apocalypse, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rahelawriter/pseuds/rahelawriter
Summary: Two Ascians muse on the beginning of another Umbral Era and the fragility of man.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt @: https://ffxiv-kink-meme.dreamwidth.org/298.html?thread=30506#cmt30506
> 
> "Igeyorhm/Lahabrea  
> [personal profile] igeyorhm  
> 2016-06-25 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)  
> Please.
> 
> I just want them to be happy and satisfied together. I don't care if it's sexual or not."
> 
> When I first saw this prompt, the first reaction that popped into my brain was, 'What would an Ascian ever have to be happy or satisfied about?' Then inspiration struck and I answered my own question.
> 
> Also riddled with headcanons about the War of the Magi and how the Ascians operate.

_Six down, seven to go_.

A deathly war, fought with the most powerful magicks man had ever known. Voidsent roamed free and supped upon the souls of the innocent. Chaos reigned as each city-state rained down destructive power upon each other, power to rival that of the gods. In recent years the most recent conflict had reached its climax. With half of Nym’s population and nearly all the Scholars transformed to piteous green beasts by Mhachi trickery, the city was defenseless against the Yafaemi’s hammer that would put the final nail in their coffin: their greatest and most powerful weapon, Ozma, demolishing everything in sight and devouring every stone and soul caught in its pull. Amdapor managed to hold on against them for a time, using White Magic to defend against Black. But it made no difference in the end: the Elementals of the Black Shroud, through their rage at the destruction of their home, brought forth the being Oha-Sok, who then brought about a great deluge to “cleanse the land of its taint,” and rain and sea swallowed all. Thus ended the War of the Magi. Screaming and then silence.

Lahabrea stood upon the surface of the water, looking out over what appeared to be a vast ocean, but beneath his feet was what little remained of all Vylbrand. The only part to not be completely submerged was the summit of the volcano, peeking out just to the left of the Ascian’s field of vision. All the world was still, quiet as the death that surrounded him, almost all sound quite literally drowned out.

“Another Rejoining come and gone.” The silence was broken by a familiar voice: that of Igeyorhm, slowly approaching from behind, her footsteps making small ripples. “We take yet another step towards our final goal.”

To hear it said aloud, Lahabrea could not help but break into a grin. “Yes, and our master shall be freed once more!” He gesticulated wildly as he spoke of Zodiark, raising his arms towards his Lord's weakening lunar prison. “But truly, this Rejoining was perhaps the most satisfying event I’ve beheld in eons. An entire war, waged by puppets doing our bidding! Mhach played their part beautifully, accepting all the knowledge we gave them, and spreading death and distrust and chaos everywhere. I’ve not seen their like since Allag!”

“Bitoso and the Tonberry plague, magicks to bind voidsent to their will, the means to construct Ozma…” Igeyorhm mentally went through the list of the boons they provided to the void mages, which they had readily received and used. But it was all for a purpose: Mhach was ensuring its own destruction as surely as it was ensuring its enemies’, just as Allag had done 3,500 years ago. However, something was out-of-place to her. Looking up to the western sky, hovering above the setting sun was an airborne vessel, appearing at this distance as glowing purple speck. This she was not so sure about. “Though, why did Deudalaphon assist the Mhachi in the construction of their ‘Void Ark’?”

“You understand as well as any the manner in which Lord Zodiark’s will must be carried out, Igeyorhm. Each Rejoining, no matter how apocalyptic, must have at least some handful of survivors to bring about the next. And the constructs that the previous worlds left behind will no doubt play a part.” Lahabrea gestured upwards to the sky, in a different direction from the Void Ark; Dalamud gleamed red above their heads, slumbering still, its prisoner yet waiting for the day to wreak fiery vengeance against the world of his captors. “How entertaining it is to watch the surviving vermin attempt to piece their pathetic lives back together, and to watch them despair as we shatter them all over again!” He let out a cold, cruel laugh at the hopeless, endless plight of mortals, cursed to have their lives shattered time and time again.

“Mhach, Amdapor, and Nym. The waters will recede, and there will be survivors from each city-state. Though it may take generations, the next civilizations shall form. Thus does the cycle of chaos continue.”

“But for now, we are to bide our time until when we may once again sow the seeds of discord among the next budding civilization. We nurture them with knowledge, influence their leaders, help them grow… Until we cause it all to crumble beneath their feet. I can scarce wait!” Lahabrea loudly cackled once more. Like a child playing with wooden blocks, stacking them to create a tower, only to gleefully knock it down and start all over; some could say that that’s all the Ascians were, in essence. “But looking at the glorious nothingness before us, all I wish is to simply revel in our handiwork! This feeling is quite peculiar, what’s the word to describe it… I feel… giddy. Yes that’s the word, giddy! Like dancing!”

“… _Giddy_. Like _dancing_.” Igeyorhm repeated flatly, scarce able to believe what she had just heard.  “Lahabrea, you sound like some nitwit from the Spoken races. Our kind do not process emotions as can be likened to them. You _know this_.”

This did not seem to deter him. He raised his arms to the sky and spun around to face her, his movements exuding pure bliss. “Ah, but can you not hear the sweet music in the air?”

Igeyorhm quirked her brow, and listened carefully to detect any signs of some sort of ambiance. She couldn’t hear much; only the gentle sloshing of water over dead bodies and debris bobbing lazily through the currents. After a moment, she responded, “I believe the closest approximation to what I hear is the sound of drowned mortals.”

“Yes, and is it not marvelous?” He whirled in midair, wearing a smile that a mortal might almost call genuinely joyful. Then disappearing from view, he then reappeared, intimately close to his compatriot, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Dance with me, Igeyorhm.”

"I beg your pardon?!"

"We've some time before Elidibus calls us to discuss the next course of action." Lahabrea took hold of her hand, clasping her fingers within his; he gazed into her masked face with a cocky sneer, knowing that if she was going to say no, she'd have warped out of his grasp already. "Is the thought of sharing a mere few minutes of that in close contact with me such a wretched prospect?"

Igeyorhm was so taken aback by his brazenness that she was unable to answer him, not even to reject him. She hesitated, reflecting for a moment, before finally she gave her answer, placing her free hand on his shoulder: "…Very well."

The Martyr and the Abyssal Celebrant, intertwined in a waltz, hovering some ilms above the water. Twirling together in the air, their feet touched nothing. And yet they stepped, they spun, they pivoted, they dipped, gracefully hanging above the corpses of the countless victims of their machinations. The moon hung high in the deep azure evening skies, stars beginning to peek through the atmosphere, the last pitiful vestiges of sunlight were slipping away. The dusk of the Fifth Sun.

These actions of physical closeness and moving in tandem, a mortal could mistake it for being affectionate. Romantic, even. But Ascians had no concept of such feelings; this, and every other emotion an Ascian possessed, was ultimately derived from a complete, all-consuming devotion to Zodiark and a contempt for Hydaelyn and all of her creations. This dance was to celebrate His victory and Her defeat, and to every future Umbral Era.

A pause in their dance, Lahabrea and Igeyorhm watched this with satisfied smiles. The Sixth Moon was rising, and they continued to waltz under their dark master's gaze.

He would be freed. All in good time.


End file.
